no one uses it. no one has used it in years. the receiver is still on its hook and the small light still burns, which is the city's polite way of pretending that the past has not ended. someone has placed a chair next to it.
who is the chair for. it is wooden and modest and tilted slightly toward the box, as if listening on behalf of someone who couldn't come. perhaps a person waited here for a call that did not arrive, and then left the waiting itself behind for the next person to inherit.
field note: the chair has a small dark patch on the seat. probably nothing. probably rain.
marquee · four a.m. · empty square · solitude